


A Webslinger is No Match for a Gunslinger

by astronomical_alien



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, drawn out action, my apologies, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomical_alien/pseuds/astronomical_alien
Summary: Peter shot a web at the gun. As if having a showdown, the man fired his gun in response. Peter flinched, assuming the bullet would soar to him or fly somewhere nearby, but instead the half-an-inch piece of lead hit the web. It stuck to the web and derailed its path before it could reach the gun.Peter’s mouth opened in surprise.How could someone even manage that?“What the – ““He’s a genetically enhanced sharpshooter, kid,” Tony’s voice abruptly said.ORPeter goes after a bad guy he shouldn't have and receives 3 bullet wounds in the process
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 124





	A Webslinger is No Match for a Gunslinger

“Karen, I think you should call Mr. Stark,” Peter said, breathlessly, as he literally dodged a bullet.

He had plunged headfirst into a fight with what he was starting to consider a wild west gunslinger. Peter had been tracking the guy for a few days, thought he was a run of the mill serial bank robber. But the guys impeccable aim with a gun was starting to make Peter nervous.

A click met Peter’s ear before Karen’s response could.

He looked down from his perch on a beam above the Bank’s tiled floor. 24 feet below Peter could see the guy cocking his gun, already having restocked the bullets.

“C’mon man,” Peter whined.

He’d been playing the target in a carnival game for a few minutes too long. He was exhausted from escaping skillfully fired bullets.

The man pulled the trigger and another bullet whizzed at Peter. His spider-sense pulled him to left as if someone had grabbed his left shoulder. The bullet struck ceiling, a puff of dust breaking from the newfound hole.

Tony had said something about not going after this guy – said he seemed “too dangerous” and Peter had found that laughable. Bank robbers are as easy to stop as dropping a glass on top a spider and slipping a newspaper underneath it. But something was off about this guy and Peter was starting to wonder if Tony had left out some convincing details of why he shouldn’t have gone after him.

“You’re giving me a run for my money, Big Bug,” the man called up to Peter, twirling the gun around his finger, “Don’t know how you’re still above snakes.”

The man’s cowboy lingo was something awful, Peter thought, and spinning that gun around between his fingers was completely unsafe.

Peter fired a web at the gun. As if having a showdown, the man fired his gun in response. Peter flinched, assuming the bullet would soar to him or fly somewhere nearby, but instead the half-an-inch piece of lead hit the _web._ It stuck to the web and derailed its path before it could reach the gun.

Peter’s mouth opened in surprise.

_How could someone even manage that?_

“What the – “

“He’s a genetically enhanced sharpshooter, kid,” Tony’s voice abruptly said.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter remarked. He let go of the bullet-web in a minuscule jump of surprise.

He had been so focused on avoiding fired ammunition that he hadn’t realized Karen had taken up his earlier suggestion to call Tony (a rare suggestion from Peter Parker). He hadn’t even registered the waiting line ringing as she had patched the call through to Tony.

“The only reason you haven’t bitten the bullet yet is because of that 6th sense you have,” Tony said, adding humorlessly, “Pun intended.”

Peter could hear the tightness in his voice, possibly irritated and definitely mad.

The only response Peter could manage was, “Oh.”

Another shot fired, and Peter’s distracted attention caused a millisecond delay in his spider-sense. A bullet stuck his abdomen, the force of it tipping him off the edge of the beam. Gravity felt like it was momentarily missing and before physics could kick in, Peter shot a web towards another beam. He pulled on the web, lifting his body up, but the action was hampered by a sharp pain and the sensation of oozing blood coming from the bullet wound. His heart dropped into his stomach, sending a wave a nausea over him.

It took a total of 5 seconds for Peter to find himself wounded and suspended over the floor of the bank, vulnerable target practice for the man below.

Somehow, in Peter’s shock, he sputtered out, “Actually Mr. Stark, about not being shot…”

He couldn’t tell if the silence on the line indicated a fuming Tony or a worried Tony.

“I’m 4 minutes out from you,” The response came, reserving excess commentary for later.

“Sounds good, Mr. Stark,” Peter said in a wavering voice and then the call hung up. Peter was unsure if Tony had done so or if Karen had assumed the conversation was over.

The sharpshooter below had a sick grin on his face.

“Finally,” he said, gruff words bouncing off the high ceiling, “Not so quick are ya, Big Bug?”

Peter slung another web, this time catching the upper wall across from him.

He tried to keep his cool. He always wondered how the Avengers and Tony kept their cool in situations as such.

“You know, I’ve seen enough Westerns to know Big Bug is a complement,” he said, the waver in voice counter intuitive to his initiative to seem cool and collected.

Surprisingly, Peter had never been shot before. It didn’t seem too bad. His abdomen felt like it was burning up and he was definitely losing blood, but other than that he felt fine.

He swung over to the wall and started to crawl down it, hoping to get behind the bank counter to catch his breath, when a gunshot rang out again. A bullet lodged itself somewhere in Peter’s shoulder.

“Oh fuck,” He hissed, tumbling from the wall and to the floor.

He smacked the ground hard, his bloodying shoulder making contact first. Adrenaline was still pumping through his system, masking half the pain he was feeling, but two bullet wounds were hard for shock to combat. He couldn't help but let a yelp of pain escape his mouth. 

“Peter, Mr. Stark’s ETA is in 1 minute and 37 seconds. I suggest you take cover and apply pressure to your wounds. If you keep losing blood at your current rate, you’ll be unconscious in minutes,” Karen informed him.

Peter ignored her, peeking up from behind the counter he had managed to roll to.

The man was quick to sling his gun, aim, and fire at the glimpse of red and blue. Luckily Peter’s spider-sense was back at 100% working capacity and he ducked down to let the bullet graze over his head.

“This guy’ll shoot Mr. Stark if I don’t take him out,” Peter gritted through his teeth. He was breathing hard and trying to fend off wooziness prickling at his stomach and his neck.

“Mr. Stark’s suit is made of titanium allo – “

“Karen, can you give me a live feed of John Wayne over there?” Peter cut her off. It wasn’t just Tony at risk. Police officers could walk in any moment. Civilians could still be in the building.

Pain was really starting to set in now. Each movement, even Peter’s chest rising and falling, sent sears of bladed pain through his body. The nerves of his wounds were catching fire and sending the feeling to every other nerve he had.

Video footage suddenly streamed behind the lenses of Peter’s mask. He could see the gunslinger approaching the counter, gun locked and loaded. Peter tried to memorize the guy’s position. He closed his eyes for half a moment, praying for his 6th sense to give him the upper hand. Then, as quick as someone with two gunshot wounds could manage, Peter popped up from behind the counter and shot a web at the guy’s face. It caught the cowboy enough off guard that he didn’t shoot right away, but by the time the web attached to his forehead, his finger pulled the trigger.

Two things happened at once. A bullet was freed from the barrel of the gun and spun clean through the air right into Peter’s chest. Peter tugged at the web with his bus-catching super strength and slammed the guy’s head into the counter, giving him a bloody gash across his nose and rendering him unconscious.

Peter stumbled backwards gasping for air. He didn’t need Karen to report to him to know that he now had a bullet in his lung. He clattered to the floor like dropped dishware. His suit was becoming quickly becoming a shade of red darker than it was supposed to be. His heart was still managing to pump the rest of his blood, but he was losing a lot. Panic was spreading in his mind like a disease.

All at once Peter processed that he’d been shot three times. The statistics of something vital to a functioning human body _not_ being hurt were low given those numbers.

The first thing Peter thought was _this sucks,_ quickly followed by, _I’m gonna die._

“Where,” – Peter had to swallow his down his words before he could speak them, “Where’s Tony?” He asked Karen.

He was suddenly so sure he was going to die. The calm, cool, collected crime-fighting façade crumbled away. Instead Peter’s mind flooded with the fact he hadn’t even graduated high school yet and he started to tremble.

“Arriving now, Peter,” Karen said in an oddly gentle tone.

As promised by Karen, Tony showed up the next moment, making a grandiose entrance by crashing through a window. He touched down in the middle of the bank and moved quickly to Peter. The only pause in his path was to kick the gun away from the gunslinger’s fingertips before obliterating the weapon with a repulsor beam. Then he jumped over the counter, and the cold exterior of the Iron Man suit opened to let him out.

“Shit, kid,” Tony said, kneeling next to Peter’s crumpled form.

Peter’s breathing was staggered. He wasn’t sure he could speak. All he could think about was the warmth of blood, the sting of the bullet holes, and the lack of air entering his lungs.

Tony pressed his hands against Peter’s abdomen without second thought. Peter gasped and suddenly the ability to form words came back to him.

“Fuck!” He said.

“Watch your mouth, sailor,” Tony said, flashing his eyes to Peter’s face before looking back at where his hands were applying pressure.

“Thing went – thing went downhill pretty fast,” Peter panted. 

Tony freed his left hand to roll up Peter’s mask so he could breathe better.

“I appreciate the chatter most the time Pete, but right now try not to talk, okay?” Tony said and something about the delicate tone of his voice made Peter uneasy. Tony Stark was not one to be delicate.

Peter nodded as the mask came all the way off, revealing teary eyes and a sweaty face.

“Friday contacted emergency medical, an ambulance should be here any second,” Tony said.

Peter nodded again, but his eyebrows creased. “What about my enhancements?” It felt funny to speak with Tony’s hands pressing into his side.

“You can’t follow a single order, can you? No talking,” Tony reminded him, and Peter silently decided that was a stupid rule. What if Peter had some last word to say before he croaks? “You can’t keep quiet when I ask you to, and you go slinging webs at people I tell you not to.”

Peter closed his eyes. He frankly doesn’t feel like getting a lecture right now. Tony trailed off seeming to get the message.

“Don’t worry about it,” He said instead, voice falling soft again, “I’ll deal with the EMTs and the hospital extravaganza later. The important thing is that you get proper help because a normal person would’ve bled out by now.” Not necessarily the comforting words either Tony or Peter needed to hear.

“But you’re going to be fine,” Tony said, a slight air of confidence about him. But Peter cracked open his eyes to see a nervousness curving Tony’s usually straight composure. He could see the way Tony kept eyeing down the wounds as if he’d suddenly find a way to fix them. “After all, someone’s gotta pay the dry-cleaning bill for this suit.”

Peter would laugh if he could, instead wincing at a wave of pain. He reached out an unsteady hand and grabbed on to Tony’s arm.

The sound of doors opening met Peter’s ears and voices started to echo through the bank lobby. For some reason, Peter felt like the EMTs were intruding. His heartbeat quickened and his grip on Tony tightened. Irrationally, he didn’t want to be taken away from him. Tony suddenly seemed like Peter’s only lifeline.

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony said.

He pulled his hands off Peter but let him keep a hold in his forearm. Peter could feel himself be lifted onto a stretcher. The scene around him was starting to blur. The noise and the red and blue light flashing around the walls were too much for Peter. He let his eyes fall closed.

As he started to drift away, fingers pressed into Tony going weak, his mind dug up memories and loaded them into the forefront of his brain.

Lab days with Tony. Late night dinners at the compound. Ned and Aunt May. He hoped he wasn’t dying, but he promptly passed out before he could figure out if that’s what was happening.

\---

Peter’s mind was awake before his body. He kept his eyes shut as his senses dialed up. He became aware of the warm starchy blanket over him and the firm mattress beneath him. Somehow, he found it cozy and curled into himself a little, pressing his head further into a crinkly pillow. He could feel an IV in the crease of his arm and the band of a plastic tube resting on the curves of his ears, oxygen being fed straight to him under his nose. He had never breathed better in his life.

He could hear monitors beeping. Another machine whirred somewhere nearby. Someone was sitting close to him. He could hear them breathing and their heart beating.

Cautiously, Peter peeled open an eye. He expected to be bombarded by stark hospital lighting. Instead of pale fluorescents, the lights were warm and dim – they way they often look in Tony’s lab when Peter’s senses get overwhelmed. He opened both eyes now and took in the familiar surrounding; he was at the Compound’s medbay. Tony was at Peter’s bedside, sat in a plush chair next to the IV stand. He was swiping away at a tablet – clearly trying to distract himself with busy work.

Peter shifted, an attempt to push himself up. His elbows buckled under his weight, strength sapped away by his body’s focus on healing up. Pain ripped through his shoulder and Peter whimpered from the feeling.

Tony quickly looked up and tossed the tablet aside.

“Easy, tiger,” he said, pitching forward to put a supporting hand behind Peter.

“Compound’s run short on spider-kid pain killers – your metabolism already ate them up so those wounds are tender right now,” He explained.

Any waking grogginess Peter had was starting to dissipate.

He tried to sit up again, favoring his left arm to do so.

Tony helped stack up pillows behind his back and he rested back onto them. Pain briefly contorted his face.

“I suppose that’s what you get when you go after a sharpshooting maniac that your beloved mentor told you not to go after,” Tony started, slipping into his usual defensive snarky attitude.

Peter winced from the words and then winced again as he breathed in only to feel a burning sensation radiate from his abdomen. He furrowed his eyebrows and flashed Tony an aggravated expression before it was quickly washed over by an expression of pain.

Without much thought, Peter reached out his hand.

In that moment, Tony realized now was not the time to scold the kid. Because that’s what Peter is. Just a kid. Peter may have deliberately disobeyed orders, but he wasn’t Steve or Natasha. He was a headstrong 16-year-old. And currently said teen was recovering from three gunshot wounds. A lecture could wait a few days.

Instead, he held Peter’s hand.

“This sucks,” Peter said, eyes looking up to the ceiling as they began to water.

He wanted to go to sleep, but the constant pain was like having infinite alarm clocks ringing.

“You’ll be fine,” Tony said.

To some those three words could sound short and careless, but Peter could hear the softness laced in them. He could hear the promise working to triumph over Tony’s own worry.

Peter closed his eyes and squeezed Tony’s hand.

“Guess a webslinger isn’t much of a match for a gunslinger,” He mumbled.

Tony snorted and Peter managed to crack a smile despite the situation.

“No kidding, kid.”


End file.
